


Food

by orphan_account



Series: Release [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Dorks in Love, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt Stiles, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski has an Eating Disorder, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nobody ever knows how a refusal to eat starts. But they all know how it ends. Ultimately, it ends with death. Stiles will be no different to that. He’s not immortal.He just doesn't know how to stop it anymore.





	1. How it begins

**Author's Note:**

> notes and warnings at the end.

**Food**

**Chapter One: How it begins**

 

Nobody ever knows how a refusal to eat starts. But they all know how it ends. Ultimately, it ends with death. Stiles will be no different to that. He’s not immortal.

He just doesn't know how to stop it anymore.

The mirror is a shock, really.

Stiles stares at his skinny form and knows he has taken his sorrow too far. Truth be told though, he had no clue that it has already come to the point he can’t even face himself in the mirror. That he wants to deny that he’s this skinny eighteen-year-old young man, who hardly looks like the person he once was anymore.

Stiles needs to eat, but he knows he can’t. Not anymore. Lately, he just never really found any interest in food, as if it didn’t matter anymore what he digested. Anything nutritious was just meant to keep him alive, really. It didn’t have any taste anymore, like Frodo would say when he was possessed by the ring. Stiles felt like Frodo right now. He felt like he was crawling up Mount Doom with every passing day.

Nothing seemed important anymore to Stiles, so why should he bother eating? Life hadn’t really been the same since the Nogitsune or after Donovan’s attack and death, but even then, Stiles had known how to eat in order to survive. Today, even that feeling was lost on him.

Some people gain weight when they’re stressed out. They binge until their stomachs are bloated and their heads hurt. Until they have to rush to the bathroom to let it all out.

Stiles loses weight. Not by the pound either, but by the kilograms. It falls off him like a second skin, shedding so rapidly he can hardly keep it together. Stiles can’t help himself. Food becomes nuisance, something to forget about, when he’s stressed out. He can go hours without it, probably even days.

Stiles is completely stressed out right now, so he forgets about food.

Gone were the days that he craved nutrition because his growing body screamed for it. Gone were the times he stuffed ten curly fries into his mouth with the speed of a starving dinosaur. Gone were the days that he reprimanded his dad for not eating healthy, because they never ate together anymore. He had become quite handy in avoiding evasive questions and get-togethers that had something to do with food.

Gone were the times where he would devour a whole pizza in the company of friends, who would mock him playfully for stuffing his face but enjoying the sight of him eating nonetheless. Those were the best days, with his friends gathered around during quieter, almost peaceful times. Those days were rare these days though and they never felt the same since before Donovan.

Gone were those days, because they happened before the event that changed Stiles’ life forever. An event even worse than the Nogitsune, Theo or Donovan.

Let’s state a fact.

Stiles does know how it all started. He just refused to accept that his life had changed because of one stupid creature that wasn’t even supposed to be there that night. One shapeshifter, who had crossed the boundaries of another pack’s territory, blatantly ignoring the unwritten rules of werewolves.

It all began with that rogue werewolf that had surprised them in the preserve one night. It was still amazing, Stiles thought, that Lydia hadn’t screeched her banshee-scream to warn them both about his imminent death. After all, as a harbinger of death, she should have sensed that her best friend, or so Stiles hoped he was, was going to die.

Lydia didn’t scream. Later on, she would say that she had been as shocked as anyone that the werewolf had jumped them out of the blue, with his claws ready to kill.

The banshee had been distracted, she would apologize later. She was too preoccupied with other things, such as Jordan Parrish flirting openly with her and school sucking up most of her time. Not that she needed the studying or extra assignments. She just wanted to make really, really sure that she graduated top of the class, so she put in extra work to make sure that she got her wish. The irony of it all was that Stiles was the only person she had to beat.

Lydia’s wish nearly got Stiles killed. She had been arguing about an equation with him. Fiercely, wanting to make sure he knew that she was still the smartest of them two, even though he wasn’t that far behind. In some areas, he outsmarted her, but Stiles was too polite to remind her of that.

Lydia had waved her arms, made large gestures and told him bluntly that he should stop worrying about which college he would go to, since they had already discussed going to the same and that she wouldn’t allow for him to fail their plan to stay together for the next four years.

In truth, Stiles didn’t plan on going with her. He had applied for the FBI-Academy pre-program, with the help of Scott’s dad. He hadn’t told Lydia just yet. The decision to do so came shortly after the Beast had been defeated. The urge to help people and make things right after Donovan, existed firmly inside of him. His dad had told him he would make a fantastic FBI-agent and had encouraged him to take the plunge, even reconciling with his former enemy over it.

Stiles had been thinking about Derek while he walked next to Lydia. Ever since the werewolf came back from his lengthy trip, he had changed into a softer, changed man. The past year had been kind to him. Stiles had reacquainted himself with Derek, seeing the changes in him as an opportunity to grow his feelings for him.

Better yet, he had become Derek’s go-to-man whenever he had questions or needed anything. It pleased Stiles that he was the person Derek would turn to. He had hoped for it, but never expected it.

Derek was not the same man who left with Braeden after Kate’s attacks. He had come back as a better version of himself, less broody and more subject to outside suggestions and change. He had moved back into his loft, had redecorated it and talked about getting to know Scott’s pack better, even though he hardly knew the younger kids, except for Liam. Mason and Corey were okay, so Derek discovered quickly. They kept to themselves but they were there when they needed them. Hayden had left town, but Kira and Malia were still there.

Of course, so was Stiles, who had returned to being the heart of the pack after he had patched things up with Scott. Theo came and left to hell. Donovan’s death was the first thing Stiles talked about with Derek, sensing that the werewolf would understand. Talking about it with him had turned out to be the best therapy Stiles could have wished for.

Derek confessed to Stiles that he still felt guilty about losing Erica, Boyd and Isaac, but apparently, he was back in touch with Isaac and tried to persuade him to come back to Beacon Hills. Stiles would love that too, since he had grown fond of Isaac and his wicked humor. Scott seemed quite pleased with that prospect and even talked to Derek about how they could persuade him to come back.

So yeah, things were pretty much back to normal in Beacon Hills. Things even calmed down after the Beast’s defeat. Enough for Stiles to decide to pursue Derek, since he had fallen head over heels in love with the man for the second time in his life. When he did the first time, Stiles had been a skinny kid, too young to be noticed in that way and too hyperactive for anyone to bear for a long time.

Now, after the Nogitsune and the Dread Doctors and Theo and Donovan, Stiles also was a calmer, more serious version of himself. He had grown physically stronger too, with muscles adding to his lean form.

The teenager had grown up the hard way, but it had made him stronger in the end. He was going to the FBI as an adult and looked forward to the challenge. He wanted to tell Derek before he informed the others and ask him about his opinion.

So, when Lydia discussed colleges and options and grades, Stiles hardly listened to her. If he had told her he was heading for Quantico, she might have paid more attention to the sounds in the woods. She might have seen and sensed the werewolf they met on their way through the preserve, heading for the Nemeton because Parrish had asked some question about the tree and its magic. Since the area had been safe for quite some time, nobody saw any harm in them going on their own.

Parrish, an established hellhound, felt a connection to Lydia Stiles never did. He was happy for them both, as he saw their affection for one another as warm, true and genuine. Stiles’ crush on Lydia had come and gone a long time ago.

Lydia had offered Parrish to do the research with Stiles. And Stiles, happy that he had the perfect excuse to then drive the small distance to Derek’s loft and spend the evening with him on the couch, had happily complied.

The rogue werewolf came out of nowhere. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Lydia fly through the air as she was flung away by the shapeshifter. He turned too late and saw the claws on the head, aiming to kill him.

Stiles took two steps backwards to save himself from being struck in the face by the wolf, but the claws still grazed by his throat, leaving a burning sensation on his skin and in his flesh that he would never forget.

He stumbled, fell backwards and knocked himself out on the tree stump coming up to greet him. The last thing Stiles saw, was the werewolf reaching out for him. The beast grabbed him by the collar.

Stiles passed out straight away. The last thing he heard, was the growl of a familiar wolf. A wolf, who would come to save them both.


	2. How it hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody ever knows where anxiety really starts. But everyone knows how it ends. If not taken care of, it ends with death.

Chapter Two

 

Nobody ever knows where anxiety really starts. But everyone knows how it ends. If not taken care of, it ends with death.

When Stiles came to after the rogue wolf’s attack, he was lying on the couch in Derek’s loft. It was dark in the room; he felt like crap. His entire body seemed to have been put through the wringer, but his throat and neck ached the worst. He was wrapped up in blankets.

He winced when he moved his hand to the area of his throat. When he did, shadows moved in the room. They reached out for him when they noticed he was awake. Immediately, the pain in his throat subsided to a throbbing ache, but it stayed there, just as the pain in his head.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” he heard Derek say. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”

For a moment, the teenager shocked. Derek looked at him with a worry in his eyes he had only seen when the Nogitsune got inside of him and took over his body and mind. Back then, Derek had done his best to hide it for the others, but Stiles had noticed as soon as Void Stiles made an appearance and he became himself again, whatever the hell that may have been.

“Just relax,” Derek whispered, rubbing soothing circles on his wrist. “It’s over.”

Stiles couldn’t believe the wolf would be so gentle with him. He became agitated, confused and very upset at the thought this had to be a dream. The ache and pain shooting through him when Derek released him briefly, increased immediately. Stiles relaxed when he noticed he was indeed fine and this was not some hopeful fever-induced dream.

Derek had found him on time, before the other wolf could rip his throat out. Then he remembered who he was with.

“Lydia.”

Her name fell like a whisper from his lips, because she was the first thing he remembered clearly. Speaking her name hurt horrible. He could hardly get the letters pushed out of his mouth. Something was wrong. Something didn’t sit right inside his body. Again, he became frantic.

“Stiles, she’s okay, she’s fine. Look.”

Derek’s calm voice soothed Stiles immediately. He followed the man’s pointed finger. Lydia lay on the other couch, wrapped in the same type of blanket, with Parrish by her side. She was awake and alert and was talking to Parrish while he hugged her closely. Her eyes found Stiles’ and she smiled weakly.

“Sorry,” she muttered and he nodded back.

Scott moved into sight then, followed by Malia and Kira, who had been in the kitchen area making tea and coffee for everyone. It was the middle of the night, Stiles though, looking at the darkness outside.

When they approached, both girls looked frantic and worried, but not as much as Scott, who obviously was quite upset about the events. Stiles’ best friend looked like he had been shot himself, with eyes so large Stiles could almost see his own reflection.

“What happened?” Stiles croaked. Again, that sharp rasp in his throat that made him think something was very wrong.

“Rogue omega,” Derek said.

“Killed him?”

“No, Argent came to pick him up and take him to a shelter. He’s fine.”

Stiles smiled at that. Derek had come a long way if he didn’t kill the werewolf attacking them. He patted the wolf’s hand.

“Good boy,” he whispered, rewarded with a snort from Scott and Malia.

Stiles fell asleep again with Derek’s hand holding him and taking away his pain.

 

***

 

“Ready?” Someone said right next to Stiles. Parrish.

“Get the door,” someone else replied. Malia?

The voice woke him from his stupor. He was tossed and juggled around. Someone lifted him from Derek’s comfortable couch and placed a strong arm behind his shoulders and one underneath his knees.

“I can take his legs,” he heard Scott say.

“No, I can handle it. He weighs next to nothing.” That was Scott.

“The sheriff is on the way.” Parrish again. “He’s pretty upset we didn’t call him first.”

“He needs his sleep.” Malia. “The man looks exhausted all the time.”

Stiles was moved. He felt the arms around him and knew they were Derek’s. They held him up as if he was a feather and his face fell against the man’s broad chest. He didn’t wear his leather jacket, but a soft Henley that smelled of him.

Stiles wanted to let him know that he was awake, but he wondered deep down inside if he really was. He was just so tired. Opening his eyes took too much effort, so he didn’t. He let himself be moved outside of Derek’s loft. He heard the sound of elevator doors opening. The bright lights protruded his closed eyelids. It hurt. His throat hurt too.

“Melissa knows we’re on the way.” Derek again.

“They’re prepping the OR.” Scott.

Stiles couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. He just knew that he was inside the elevator, in Derek’s arms, with Scott and someone else nearby.

“I’ll drive.” Parrish. He had the large sheriff’s jeep and lights. Made sense.

“Derek, move in the back.” Scott again. “Be careful. I’ve got his legs.”

“He’s burning up.” Derek again, who placed a cool hand on Stiles’ forehead. “It’s getting worse fast.”

“Mom knows what to do.”

The slamming of car doors followed. Stiles faded back into darkness.

 

***

 

“Dad?”

Stiles’ voice sounded so quiet he hardly realized he was talking, but he was. Whatever he said, had to be pushed out of his throat so roughly it hurt.

“Kiddo, I’m right here.”

Stiles opened his eyes to find his dad sitting by his side, with his hand resting on Stiles’ wrist. Instantly, Stiles felt something was wrong. He had an IV pushing painkillers and other fluids into him; his throat hurt horribly and he had a headache like he had never experienced before.

“What happened?” Stiles asked confused, looking around the hospital room.

There were flowers on the windowsill, get well cards and some Funko Pops from his favorite Star Wars-characters. Oh god, he must have been out for quite some time. He studied his father’s face to find a beard that was at least three to four days old.

“The others are outside,” Stilinski said. “I had to drive Derek out of here, the poor guy was going stir crazy. I swear I’ve never seen anyone so frantic in my life. He kind of reflected what I was going through, truth be told.”

The sheriff’s voice sounded weary and exhausted. Stiles instantly felt guilty as he watched his father run a hand through his greasy hair. He must have been sitting here for ages too then.

“What happened?” Stiles repeated.

“You went into sceptic shock,” his dad explained. “It all happened very fast really. You were attacked, do you remember that?”

Stiles nodded. “The rogue.”

“That’s right. Derek and Scott took you and Lydia back to the loft and treated your wounds, like they usually do. They called Melissa to make sure everything was okay and she patched you up. Since you were lucid and spoke to her while she did, they were comfortable enough leaving you there. Derek was a bit concerned about the depth of the claws and he wanted to keep you there to make sure you didn’t turn.”

“The rogue was an alpha?” Stiles croaked.

“Yep. Argent confirmed this when they picked him up to bring him to the shelter. A feral alpha who had recently lost his pack. Poor guy didn’t know what the hell he was doing,” Stilinski sighed. “Anyhow, when you woke up again and spoke to Derek and made some joke apparently, they were convinced you weren’t going to turn, so they decided to let you sleep it off. They let me know where you were, so I knew what was going on.”

“Until?”

“You wouldn’t wake up anymore. Derek put you to rest in his bed and came to check up on you in the middle of the night, only to find you hallucinating and going through some serious bad dreams. You were running extremely high fevers and didn’t recognize him anymore. It was pretty bad, Stiles. The claws had been infected and you went into sceptic shock. Blood poisoning. They moved you here in the middle of the night and performed surgery on you to clean the wound.”

“How long?”

“Four days.”

Stiles frowned, looking at the ceiling. Four days of his life were gone. He was dead tired and in shock of what his dad had just told him. He had lost four days because of a rogue werewolf. No wonder he felt so tired and weak as a limp noodle.

His dad gave him some water and supported him when he tried to drink. Every little sip felt like fire burning down his throat. He had trouble swallowing.

“There was an infection in your throat, on your esophagus, vocal cords and airways,” his dad explained. “You spent three days in the ICU, then were moved here yesterday when you started breathing on your own again. Before, they had put a tube down your throat because the infection spread quickly.”

Stiles looked at the bags on the IV-pole and realized they had been feeding him like that because he wasn’t even capable of digesting anything as easy as water.

“Let me just quickly warn the others and have them come over,” Noah said. “They’ve been here all the time and they feel guilty as hell.”

Stiles nodded and watched how his father pushed the on-call button and then started firing away text messages to his friends. When the door opened, he knew who was going to be there. Derek.

“Hey,” the wolf said surprised, moving to the bed at once.

The second he did, he started taking away the dull pain the IV couldn’t take away from Stiles. Immediately, Stiles felt a lot better, as if he had been pumped up with extra morphine. He placed one hand on Stiles’ throat and shoulder-area and the other one on his wrist. Stiles looked as black tendrils moved up Derek’s arm.

“That feels good,” he sighed, resting his head in Derek’s hand that held onto his shoulder area. “You’re the best, Der.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Stilinski said, moving out of the room. “Be careful with that mojo when one of the nurses comes in. I’ll see if I can go find Melissa and get you some food.”

“No food,” Stiles muttered. “Pain. Not hungry.”

The sheriff didn’t hear.

“You’ve been out of food and water for four days, Stiles,” Derek said, leaning into Stiles. “You have to eat something to get your strength back up. God, it’s been – it’s been hell.”

Stiles looked up at the werewolf. Tears shone in his eyes. Shocked, Stiles moved his head away from the wolf as he reached for his hand.

“I almost died, didn’t I?”

“Remember what you told me about your dad when he was hurt by that Chimaera? Well, it was pretty much the same. You’ve been in and out of awareness for days. You were hallucinating, shouting and screaming and hurting until they sedated you and put a tube down your throat to have your body rest. So yeah, it was pretty bad,” Derek spoke seriously. “And I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

“What for?” Stiles croaked, fighting against the ache in throat.

“I should have prevented this. You shouldn’t have been out there in the woods. I should have known there was another Alpha in the area.”

“He was rogue. You couldn’t have known.”

“I wasn’t paying enough attention. I had let down my guard because things had quieted down in Beacon Hills and I felt ridiculously happy for once,” Derek said, looking into Stiles’ eyes. “I was happy.”

“So was I.” Stiles almost didn’t dare to look into Derek’s eyes, but he had to. He had to say it, before he lost his nerve to do so. “I was so happy you came back.”

“I was happy that you were happy that I came back,” Derek smiled, reaching for Stiles’ hand. He kept it against his cheek before placing a tender kiss on his palm.

“I’m happy that you’re happy that I was happy,” Stiles smiled tiredly. “Please don’t ever go away again.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

The sheriff returned with Melissa, Scott and Lydia, who had just arrived at the hospital. After her quick examination of the wound, Melissa smiled happily.

“The wound is healing nicely, your fevers broke and you’re alert and quite lucid,” she said. “Good to have you back. Now, all you have to do is rebuild your strength. You’ll have to take it easy for a while and you’ll be here for another day or two to let the antibiotics in that IV do their job. You’ll also need to learn how to eat again, because your throat went through a pretty rough time and it’s still on the mend. We’ll start with yoghurt and fluids.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Stiles muttered, after receiving hugs from his friends and eyeing the yoghurt Melissa had brought with her. “Can this wait until later? I’m really tired.”

Again, every single word hurt like a bitch. Stiles knew he had to be patient and allow for his throat to heal on its own account, so he thought nothing of it. He was a survivor. He had battled many creatures and always made it out. This wasn’t anything new.

“Sure, honey,” Melissa said, stroking through Stiles’ hair. “I’ll leave this here, so call me when you’re ready to give it a try, okay? It’s late in the evening, so your hunger will probably return in the morning. It’s really good to have you back.”

“Thanks,” Stiles croaked.

“As for all of you,” the nurse said, looking at his friends and dad, “Stiles needs his rest and so do you, so why don’t you go home for the night and allow our patient to rest up? You can come back in the morning. I’ll keep an eye on him all through the night, okay?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Melissa,” Derek said before the sheriff could insist on staying with his son. “This place reeks of sweat and greasy hair. We all need to take a break.”

Stiles smiled gratefully at the wolf, squeezed his hand and let everyone say goodbye to him. Derek was the last one to go, after squeezing his hand once more and telling him they would continue their conversation in the morning.

When he was alone, with the lights shut and the drapes still open so he could see the full moon, and that little jar of yoghurt mocking him, Stiles fell apart.

The tears that escaped his eyes became cries, the cries became heaves and shocks and bouts of sadness and anger and fear and so much more at the same time. He couldn’t control his body. He had to clutch his hands against his chest to deal with the pain and the ache and the anxiety attack and the pain in his throat. It went on and on until he was too tired to even think anymore.

His eyes drooped and he fell asleep without wanting to do so, to dream about rogue werewolves who slashed throats with their infected claws.

In the morning, the hunger that he had expected or the need for food, was still not there. The jar of yoghurt stared him in the face and mocked him for his weakness. Stiles threw it off the table with one haul, turned his face towards the window and ignored it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments on this story! I'm in awe of you guys.  
> I hope you liked this chapter. In the next one, there will be more trigger warnings about eating disorders, anxiety attacks and panic.


	3. How fear feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody ever knows where pure fear really starts. But everyone knows how it ends. If not taken treated properly, it ends with death.

Chapter Three

 

Nobody ever knows where pure fear really starts. But everyone knows how it ends. If not taken treated properly, it ends with death.

Stiles didn’t even really know where the decision not to eat started. All he knew though, was that every bite hurt and he just couldn’t muster the strength to even try anymore. Why would he? He was still in the hospital, kept strong by an IV and whatever other stuff they pumped into him. It had been little over two days and he still didn’t feel different than he had when he woke up here for the first time.

Stiles didn’t feel weak or lightheaded from lack of food or water. He had no time to think about any of those things either, since his days and nights were riddled with nightmares of clawing alpha claws that slashed his throat. Yeah, he knew that the werewolf was an alpha and that he had been extremely lucky not to have turned.

His routine was pretty much the same every day. After the nurses came with breakfast (yoghurt and toast), which he didn’t eat but threw away in the bathroom bin (the toast) and partially flushed down the toilet (the yoghurt) after slipping out of bed without their permission, he was been left alone in his room to contemplate his fortune.

The doctor would come in to ask stupid questions about how much his throat hurt (horribly) and how he was eating (he lied through his teeth, smiling that he was doing great, dandy, swell and ate it all without pain) and how lucky he was that he was still alive and that he should count his lucky stars and be happy that there were people out there who cared about him so much.

Lunch would consist of a warm meal which he flushed down the toilet (again), except for that weird vanilla pudding that somehow managed to slide its way down his throat without harming the internal wounds too much and kept him on his feet. He already dreaded the moment they would remove that IV and no food would mean he would probably pass out in a few days.

In the afternoon someone always came in: his dad (sorry, I’ve got to run, a lot of work and we’re understaffed!), Melissa (hey hon, you look so much better. Call me if you need me!), Scott, Lydia or anyone of the others (hey we can’t stay long, so much homework, but we’ll be back tonight and don’t worry about anything, we’ll take care of your schoolwork!).

Dinner: bread and spread. (Garbage bin and toilet), except for the weird chocolate pudding that tasted chemical but did manage to push back some of the ache down his stomach. And some tea. Tea always did the trick, so he added heaps of sugar to keep up his strength.

Check-up of doctors, nurses and whoever else wanted to pay a visit. Treatment of the wound, some questions about how he felt and how he was eating and talking (not much, his throat hurt and his voice sounded raspy) and if he need to talk to a counselor (nah, I’m okay). And more remarks about how lucky he was to be alive.

That’s what they said: He was lucky to be alive after an attack by a rabid animal. Of course, the nursing staff, except for Melissa, had no inkling what had really happened to him. They had no idea that he dreamt of red eyes and clawing fingers and a creature with a foul breath that was throwing Lydia against a tree and him against the ground so it could sit on him and claw his throat out and devour him alive.

They couldn’t have known that he refused to fall asleep during the day and mostly during the nights too because he would be dreaming about that creature and the Alpha werewolf Peter once was and the kanima with the name of Jackson and the Darach and the Alpha pack and the Nogitsune screaming and shouting at him and becoming him and splitting him up and the face that was his looking back at him and the Chemist trying to shoot him and Brunski kicking him in the face and Theo and Donovan and his jeep being flipped over with him in it and the Beast and …

So he just coped and repeated the same day the next day and the next day until they said he could come home. But that day didn’t come yet. He was still on fluids and antibiotics and still throwing food out and still dreaming about the werewolf and Peter and the kanima and the Darach and …

“Stiles! Breathe in, breathe out.”

Stiles looked up with a shock, staring into the distressed face of Derek Hale, who had taken his hands in his and rubbed his fingers and told him to breathe. To breathe in and out and to feel better and to hang onto him and to be fine.

Stiles just closed his eyes and faded away.

 

***

 

“You smell of anxiety and fear and a lot more things I can’t place,” Derek commented once he was alert enough to listen to him. “You are not yourself. What’s going on?”

“It hurts.” The truth.

“Your throat?”

“Everything.” Again, the truth.

“Why don’t you tell doctors?”

“All they want to do is pump me up with fluids that are mind numbing and don’t go well with my adderal. They make me feel like crap and drowsy and put me to sleep.”

“So? Sleep.”

Stiles shook his head.

“You don’t want to?”

Again the nod.

“Even talking hurt, doesn’t it?”

Stiles nodded again.

“What can I do to help?”

Stiles shrugged. “Just be yourself.”

Derek pulled an eyebrow up to new heights. “You want me to slam you into a wall?”

Stiles snorted, feeling lighter for the first time in ages.

“Maybe,” he rasped.

“You missed me that badly, Stiles?”

“Always, Sourwolf. Things weren’t the same without you.”

Derek smiled at the full sentence, even if Stiles obviously still hurt while talking.

“I’m sorry that I left, but –“

“You had to and I was happy for you to escape this hellhole.”

Again a full sentence. Stiles felt proud. Derek did too. He reached for Stiles’ hand and rubbed over his fingers.

“What if I told you that I came back because of you?”

“I wouldn’t believe you,” Stiles reacted.

“Because I slammed you into walls?”

“Because you had more reasons to stay away than to come back.” Stiles hesitated.

“What is it, Stiles?”

“I don’t want to be the reason that you came back.” His voice slowed down and softened, but Derek heard. He knew Stiles was exhausted and needed to rest, but he wouldn’t. Not yet anyhow.

“I wanted to come back for you because you deserved it,” Derek blurted out.

“I did?”

“You deserve to be happy.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Derek snorted. “You look quite happy … NOT.”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve been since Scott was bitten.”

“And what if you could trade it all for happiness? All of this – the misery, the pain, all the aches and the nightmares?”

“Utopia,” Stiles whispered. “I wouldn’t be able to go away and leave them alone.”

His voice sounded exhausted now. Derek placed his finger on Stiles’ lips. Then he moved forward. For a moment, Stiles thought he would be kissed, but Derek moved his mouth to his ear and spoke softly.

“You deserve to be happy,” he repeated. “You deserve to think only about yourself. You deserve to be carefree. You deserve to be anywhere else but here, in this hellhole. And you need to eat. You need to sleep. You need to mend. You need so many things and you won’t give yourself any of it.”

Stiles looked up shocked at those words. Then he paled and pointed his finger at the door.

“I think you should go now.”

“Stiles –“

“Go.”

“I won’t leave you alone until you eat and sleep, Stiles.”

“GO!”

Stiles’ voice broke as he shouted and pointed his finger once more at the door. Derek sighed, stood and turned away. Before the wolf was even out the door, Stiles burst into tears.

He didn’t sleep again that night. He stayed up and stared out the window and thought about rogue werewolves and Peter and kanima’s and beasts and creatures of the night and so many other things that were still out there, ready to kill them all.

No, he didn’t deserve to be happy at all. After all, they had done this to themselves. For the first time since they sacrificed themselves, it finally got through to him. They had caused this. He had only himself to blame.

He didn’t deserve food. He deserved fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! XXX


	4. How isolation begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody really knows where isolation begins, but everybody knows where it ends. If not stopped, it ends with death.

Chapter four: How isolation begins   

 

Nobody really knows where isolation begins, but everybody knows where it ends. If not stopped, it ends with death.

Stiles was good at isolating himself, always has been. He had no problem retreating into his mind, avoiding his friends and pretending they didn’t exist. He had done it during the begin period of the Nogitsune, when he thought something was terribly wrong with them but he couldn’t deal with it. He had wanted to avoid the others since they’d had enough problems on their own to deal with.

He had done it after Donovan. Even up until today, he still couldn’t explain why he had chosen not to tell anyone. How he had decided to suffer from that aching, festering wound on his shoulder on his own. How he couldn’t see that what had happened had been self-defense and not murder. He still didn’t get why it wasn’t considered murder. After all, Donovan had come to eat his legs, to teach his dad a lesson, but Stiles had wanted him dead at the same time. He just wanted Donovan out of their lives and be done with. When he got his wish, Stiles thought he was being punished for wishing such a cruel thing. He never saw that he was not guilty, that the only crime he ever committed, was self-defense.

Stiles was good at avoidance. Whatever he felt was not right, whatever he felt he had not done okay, he tried to ignore up until the point it went away. Often, that worked. More often, it didn’t.

Stiles didn’t want to talk about the creatures of the night they had encountered in the past few years. He didn’t want to accept that he was part of a team to protect others. All he saw, more often than not lately, was death looming in front of them.

He had reached his breaking point. The Rogue wolf had been that breaking point. The fangs, the claws and the look in that animal’s face, had broken Stiles. For the first time maybe in many years, Stiles started thinking about the other side of the supernatural.

He had always believed that his friends were good, but he had also seen what darkness could do them. If they went feral, if something happened to them, if they changed overnight, they could and would become killers too.

At home, alone in his room, Stiles felt fear rushing through him like blood coursing through his veins. He started imagining his friends coming to the house to kill him. He saw them attacking him, finding out at long last that he could also service as human flesh. That they could become the werewolves that people always saw in horror movies. Destructive, lethal and deadly.

Stiles dreamt of fangs and red eyes and beasts attacking him from all sides. He dreamt of being sacrificed as meat. He imagined Donovan grabbing his legs and eating them while he was still alive. Donovan biting in his flesh and ripping out chunks of him while he screamed and shouted and cried out, but nobody came for him.

He was alone and he was eaten alive and Donovan would devour one leg and give the other one to the Rogue, who would bite into it and decide that Stiles tasted so good that he wanted the rest of him too. He would end up lying on the ground, with his chest being ripped open and his organs being ripped out and he would be alive to see and experience it all and he would die, die, die …

Stiles screamed himself awake. He screamed so loud his head ached and his whole body tensed and he fell to the floor, where he lay awake gasping and sucking in air, with his legs entangled in his sheets.

He was alone at the house. His dad had the graveyard shift and he was alone. Always alone. He had been alone for the past two days, since he was released from the hospital and taken home while his throat still ached and his body just yearned for rest and food that he would refuse to give.

Stiles didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to see meat on his plate, stare at it and then realize that it looked exactly like the flesh from his legs and his throat, where the Rogue had wanted to have a taste of him.

Crawling up, Stiles burst into tears. His head hurt. He felt light. Everything ached. His entire body ached from not eating. He was hollow on the inside and his dad didn’t even know. He never saw him eat these days, so it wasn’t that hard to lie about it. He lived on water and small pieces of fruit that he could digest without it tasting too much like bad things.

Bananas were okay. He slid them up in small parts and munched on them. They gave him strength to survive and didn’t taste like blood. Oranges were horrible. Their acids hurt the inside of his throat. Apples were too hard to chew on, pears were okay. Yoghurt still didn’t taste good. Forget about bread or fries or potatoes or anything. Nothing like that worked out for him.

So, bananas it was. He hid the peels in a bag that he took outside every day when his dad wasn’t there. Ridiculous, really, but he didn’t want any questions asked. He pretended to have eaten when his dad came home. He went as far as to buy junk food, flush the contents in the toilet and leave the rest in the trash. His dad would mutter about how he didn’t like Stiles to eat so much crap, but the man seemed pleased that Stiles was eating at all, so no further questions asked.

Over the past two days, Stiles had had too much time on his hands to think. He wasn’t allowed to go to school, so he spent his days watching horror movies (American Werewolf in London), dreaming about how his friends went rogue and ate him alive and doing absolutely nothing. No research, no fun things, no games. Just suffering.

Scott called him twenty times per day, but he never picked up the phone. Finally, his best friend had left a text message saying he would come back tonight since it was Friday evening and the weekend started and they would hang out together, whether he liked it or not. That was yesterday. He didn’t show up. Sent a text something came up, something about something in the woods and he would come by in the morning.

Lydia texted him several times during the day to tell him she was worried about him and something felt off and she would come by tonight and check up on him and he had no choice in the matter. That was yesterday. She didn’t show up, probably too busy with whatever thing it was that Scott was tracking down in the woods.

Malia let him know she was thinking about him and wanted to see him and she would come by tonight and let him know she wouldn’t take a no for an answer. He thought about shards of glass in his chest and wanted to tell her no, but he didn’t. She didn’t show up. She was too busy running around as a coyote in the woods helping Scott.

Kira sent her wishes, told him she was thinking about him and he could call her if he wanted to talk because she was a good listener and she was rambling again and he liked that rambling while he listened to it over the voicemail. She didn’t offer to come by.

And Derek said nothing. He had said nothing. No text, no calls, no visits. Absolute silence.

Stiles didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. He hated the radio silence, but he only had himself to blame. He wouldn’t come by if he was Derek either. He wouldn’t want to spend time with a fucked-up kid who had no clue what was going on with the world anymore. He hadn’t listened to the radio, hadn’t watched the news, hadn’t wanted to know what everyone else was up to. Derek had better things to do than that and Stiles understood.

Stiles just wanted to …

What did he want?

He didn’t know.

He wanted peace of mind and silence in his head. No more nightmares, dreams, or anything that would stop him from thinking too much about his friends gone rogue and creatures trying to eat his legs and throat.

Stiles sighed as he sank down on the bed and started pulling up the sheets so he could try to catch a bit more sleep. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and instantly held his breath. What the hell was going on? Who was that kid staring back at him in the mirror? That screwed-up skinny kid that had lost so much weight his cheekbones protruded even more and his T-shirt swam over his body.

This was not the person Stiles wanted to be, but here they were. He had let this go on for too long. He didn’t want to be so scared of his own shadow, didn’t want people to look at him as if he was an idiot. If Scott saw him like this, he would ask what was wrong and he couldn’t tell them. It was too ridiculous after all. He wanted them .. out of his life.

He could never leave this room again. He could never show his face to his friends again. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to stop chasing beasts.

On impulse, Stiles grabbed his phone and sent a text message to all of them. Just a few words, but they would understand. They would get him.

_I can’t do this anymore. I want out. I’m sorry. Please don’t try to find me._

It was the middle of the night. His friends wouldn’t see this until morning. Maybe Scott would come by real early and maybe he would try to talk some sense into Stiles, but Stiles wouldn’t be here. He would be gone. He would be long gone.

On second impulse, Stiles grabbed a bag, opened his closet and started stuffing some clothes into it. He grabbed his laptop and charger, his phone and charger, money he had saved for a rainy day and a few photos of his mom and dad. It was all he needed really and it was enough.

Stiles was trembling by the time he was done, but he felt it was good to do it. It was okay. He had made a good decision. If he wanted out of this life, if he ever wanted to start eating again, he needed to get away. He needed to think about himself for once. He would head out of Beacon Hills and build up a life elsewhere. He didn’t mind working in bars or coffeeshops or whatever earned him his keep. He could finish his high school degree online and then take a year off to save money and then try to find a good college and take care of himself.

He could that, anywhere but here. He wanted out. He wanted a city where he could live anonymously. He wanted a new life away from supernatural creatures and mortal dangers and wendigos trying to eat legs and wolves becoming rogue.

If only he didn’t feel so damned dizzy and weary and sick and alone.

Stiles sighed as he looked around his room. This was it then. This was the finality of it all. He reached for his phone again and prepared a text message to send to his dad too. It would break the man’s heart, but Stiles had no choice in the matter. If he stayed, he would die. If he left, at least he still stood a chance of survival. Blinded by tears, Stiles typed what he had to say to the man while he sat on the side of his bed.

“Sorry, dad,” he whispered through tears, tasting the salt on his own lips. He searched blindly for the send button, but a sudden hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Don’t send him that message.”

Stiles looked up to see Derek kneeling down in front of him. Derek, whose eyes betrayed what Stiles had seen in the mirror earlier. The shock, the sadness and the concern. The man gently removed the phone from Stiles’ hand and placed it gently on the desk.

“I have to,” Stiles croaked, as Derek returned to him and reached for his hands.

“No, you don’t,” the wolf reacted gently. “You have to take care of yourself, Stiles, but not like this. Not by running away from everyone you love.”

“Running away is all I have left,” Stiles cried. “If I don’t, I’ll die.”

“No, you don’t and you won’t,” Derek soothed him. “You’ve still got me, Stiles. You’ll always have me. And Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, Liam, your other friends and your dad and Melissa. Do I need to go on, Stiles? You have so many people that mean so much to you, who are worried sick about your lack of eating and your lying about your stress. People, who have left you alone to give you the space you need to cope with your ordeal, but who have been eating themselves alive because they see you whither away.”

Stiles looked shocked at Derek’s words.

“They … they see me?”

“Yeah, they do. You don’t need to see you up close to sense the sadness, grief, pain and stress that you’re radiating, Stiles,” Derek sighed. “They are constantly talking about you, trying to find ways to get you out of your depression, but the truth of the matter is that they can’t do anything for you right now. All they can do, is be there when you are ready to talk to them again.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t want them to see me this way.”

“You don’t want them to see you NOT eating, Stiles.”

“I am eating.”

“Bananas doesn’t cut it.”

Stiles looked up in shock again.

“How do you …?”

“I know everything, Stiles. I’ve been waiting for you to take the decision. I knew you were going to head off, retreat into yourself. That’s the kind of person that you are. You don’t know even know how much you’re loved, do you? How much care there is waiting for you?” Derek spoke sadly. “All you see, is the darkness.”

“Nobody cares about me,” Stiles spoke matter-of-fact.

“That’s not true. YOU don’t care about YOU, Stiles. That’s why you don’t tell people when a wendigo tries to kill you and you act in self-defense. Or why you don’t let on about the darkness that has taken over your heart so badly that it’s already too late to stop it. You take this out on yourself, because that’s the kind of person that you are.”

Stiles wanted to react to Derek’s words, but he couldn’t. He felt suffocated. He couldn’t find the right way to defend himself, so he did what he always does. He ran.

“I have to go.” Stiles stood and looked at his bag. “I need to go.”

“If you do, you will hurt yourself. And only yourself, Stiles. The eating won’t come back. You won’t feel better. In fact, you’ll feel worse than ever. You’ll end up dead, Stiles.” Derek’s voice never raised while he spoke, but it cut through Stiles like a knife anyway.

“I’ll live,” he muttered, non-convincingly.

“No, you won’t. And if you die, Stiles, you’ll kill us all.”

“You’re a big boy, Sourwolf,” Stiles muttered. “I’m going.”

Stiles reached forward for his bag while Derek watched him. The teenager swayed and fell forward as if all the strings of his body had been loosened and he couldn’t get his legs to move anymore. For a moment, he blacked out.

The next thing he knew, he was lying in Derek’s arms, lifted up gently and then laid down onto his bed. The door to his bedroom opened. Scott came in with Melissa. Stiles stared at the three people in his room and wondered what the hell was going on.

“He passed out,” Derek said. “Just like we expected.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Melissa said, hovering over Stiles. “Oh kiddo,” she whispered. “What have you done to yourself?”

Stiles just couldn’t bother with answering. He felt so tired he just wanted to sleep. So he did.


	5. How it ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for commenting and reacting to this story!  
> this is the end. I hope you've enjoyed it!

Chapter Five

 

It was hard. It probably was the hardest thing Stiles ever had to do in his life and he didn’t want to do it. He just wanted to run away from his problems, his friends and family and pretend he was perfectly fine. That was his plan.

A million options ran through his mind while he was cooped up in bed, being guarded by several watchdogs that he didn’t want to have around his bed.

He tried to ignore them at first, just like he tried to ignore the fact he was starving himself. When he first woke up after passing out in Derek’s arms, he found himself surrounded alone in Derek’s bedroom. He remembered that there were people in the room before, people who probably loved him the most in the whole world.

They were not there at first and he thought he was doing just fine and could slide out of bed, get his clothes on and go home. It didn’t work out that way. As soon as he moved, something pulled him back to the bed. He didn’t even get why at first, since he was too tired and too dizzy to care.

Then he saw what was literally tying him down. Melissa had inserted an IV to push fluids and food into him. The bags were hooked up on a pole next to the bed. Thank fuck he was asleep for that, or he would have passed out again.

Stiles saw the two bags with fluids when he woke up and wondered what the hell they were doing there, until he realized they were dripping fluids into his arm. He freaked out at the sight of the tube and needle stuck in his body and instinctively tried to get rid of it.

He already succeeded in removing the tape and was just about to pull the needle out, when Derek stormed into the bedroom and stopped him by placing two firm hands on him.

“Don’t,” the wolf growled. “Don’t you dare pull the needle out, Stiles.”

Frantically and shocked by the wolf’s reaction, Stiles did the exact opposite of course. He fought with all his might against Derek, only to be pushed down on the bed by two extra hands, this time Scott’s, who had tears in his eyes and looked at him with such sorrow that it broke Stiles’ heart.

So they really knew, Stiles thought shocked. They all know that he’s fucked up and messed up and just wants to stop the pain.

“Stiles, please,” Scott pleaded. “Please don’t do this to yourself. We need you, man. Please, Stiles.”

The tears that flowed freely from Scott’s eyes stopped Stiles from fighting. By the time Melissa and his dad entered the room, he had calmed down enough to allow Melissa to replace the tape that held the IV in place.

All fight had left him. Stiles felt like the world collapsed on top of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He leaned passively back in bed and closed his eyes, while tears escaped and dripped on his clothes.

“Oh kiddo,” his dad spoke, gently stroking through his damp hair. “Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?”

Stiles’ heart broke for the second time, but he felt himself unable to speak, so he turned his head away from them and refused to look at them again. Finally, he fell asleep like that. His breathing evened out and his body relaxed enough to pass out again.

From that moment on, there was always someone by the bed. He was never left alone again. His family and friends had taken turns watching him, while pretending they weren’t. They had books, his laptop, tablet or phone, movies and comics, all scattered around the room. Stiles looked at them impassively and wondered if he would ever feel normal again to even look at them. He had never been so hollow.

They talked about him of course.

“We need to get professional help.”

“He can’t live without food.”

“We need to get him to eat.”

“We need to take him to the hospital.”

Every single time, Derek said no. The sheriff couldn’t make sane decisions since he was too upset and too tired and too busy to take the lead. He left that to Derek. And Derek said no.

A day later, Stiles still hadn’t eaten and everyone felt frustrated. The IV was still pushing fluids and food into him, but Melissa had told them this couldn’t last forever. Stiles was still losing weight at a dramatic rate and she would make the call to move him to a medical facility within the day if he didn’t start eating.

Stiles knew, but he didn’t care. He wanted them to move him so he wouldn’t be a burden to them anymore. He wanted them to forget about him, so he could die in peace.

Stiles had decided it was time to die. He didn’t feel like he belonged anymore. He was a nuisance. A kid who had been attacked by Rogue wolves, by kanima’s, by nogitsune’s and by so many creatures of the night who had it out for him. He was tired, exhausted and upset. He dreamt of Donovan and tiny pins that no longer held scaffold and Theo trying to get to him and the Desert Wolf attacking him and shards of glass in his chest and … he couldn’t go on. It was enough. He’d had enough.

The only thing still keeping him alive, were the faces of his father, his friends and Derek. Always Derek. He was the only one he held onto now. The one who got him. But it didn’t seem enough as long as he lived in this hell.

He woke up at night from a blood-filled nightmare with a throat so dry it hurt even more than the claws of that Rogue. He immediately knew Derek was sitting in the dark, watching him. The wolf stood as soon as he groaned and tried to find sleep again, since sleep was the only moment anyone ever left him alone anymore. Better to sleep and to be left alone.

“Stiles, I know you’re awake.”

“Fuck off.” The words escaped Stiles’ throat and mouth before he could even think about it, but he knew he meant it. It was all Derek’s fault after all.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Derek’s voice stayed the same passive, but he could feel the hurt in it.

“No.” Stiles swallowed away bile and the disgusting taste he had for days now and found himself turning to the wolf.

Derek moved closer with a small smile on his face, as if Stiles had given him the world.

“Do you want to leave?”

“What?” Stiles looked surprised.

“Right now. Do you want to leave?”

“This bed? Hell yeah.”

“Not just this bed. Everything, Stiles. This hell, this town, these creatures and dangers. Do you want to leave it behind?”

Stiles’ weary mind didn’t even have to think about that option. As soon as Derek popped the question, he knew the answer. He just never thought he would get asked.

“Yes.”

“May I be the one to take you?”

Again, Stiles looked at the man in shock. Derek had changed so much. He was caring, gentle and sweet. He was the Derek Stiles had hoped for, so long ago. The man he had dreamt of whenever there were no monsters in his nightmares.

“Yes.”

Derek smiled, took another step forward and stroked through Stiles’ hair. Then he leaned into him and softly kissed him on his chapped lips. When he let go, Stiles felt like he had died and gone to heaven.

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Stiles?”

“Do you still make that fantastic vegetable soup from your mom’s recipe?”

“I do.”

“Would you make that for me?”

“I already did,” Derek smiled, before he left the room.

Stiles leaned back in the pillows and looked up at the IV. It was time, he thought. Time to make a change. He pulled at the tape and needle until it slid out of his arm. He pushed down on to stop the bleeding. Then he slowly moved his legs and feet out of the bed, until they touched the floor. He stood insecure on his legs, but they held up his weight.

Stiles slowly shuffled towards the kitchen, using the pole as a support. Derek was heating the soup. He didn’t turn around when Stiles came in and sat down gingerly on a chair. He just took out a bowl and filled it up to the brim with soup, adding extra vegetables to make sure.

Stiles’ hand shook when he reached for the spoon and slowly started eating. When his dad walked in shortly after, he didn’t react or comment. He sat down with a bowl in front of him and joined his son, not caring that his salty tears added extra flavor to the soup.

Derek just smiled, left the room and booked three tickets for New York. The sheriff would come too.

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story. I’ve always wanted to write a story about Stiles having an eating disorder. In order to stay in line with his character, I came up with this intense plot that shows that even the strongest characters can reach their breaking point.  
> Beware, this story may contain triggers for eating disorders, but mostly it's about friendship, trust and care.


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